Skin
by lizteroid
Summary: Set sometime after 'Afterbirth' and Violet has been ignoring Tate's appearances. He's almost at breaking point, but when he finds Nora and tries to converse with her about it, things go from bad to disastrous. Rated M for sensitive material.


**_Author's Note:_ **Tate/Nora fic someone asked me to write ages ago! I always wondered about Tate and Nora's relationship, like it was weird. He adored her but I think there was more to it than just an adoptive mother/son relationship. Here it anyway.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, everything belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and the FX network.

**Warning! Reader Discretion:** This fic will contain sensitive topics, and has been rated M for content

* * *

Nora had resigned herself to crying, sobbing, wailing once again.

Everything she had seemed to do over the last few weeks involved crying, or walking around the house aimlessly, or feeling confused as to where she was. For days though, she had been residing in the basement, not entirely sure of what was happening around in the house, nor who was currently occupying her once beloved home, if anybody. It had been passed through many families since she had last made any effort to show herself to the humans who owned it, the one's who had given her the baby she had so craved for, and then dismissed it because he had been weak.

She missed her own baby, her sweet baby Thaddeus, she couldn't find him. What had become of her family, her baby boy and her husband, Charles? Nora had no idea of what had happened, all she did know was that, she felt utterly confused and woolly headed. As though someone had stuffed her cranium with cotton wool and left her to wander around. It was a most peculiar sensation, and she did not enjoy it one bit.

In the basement however, after her urges for nurturing and a baby had once again became unbearable, the blonde had found herself hunched over, sobbing into the handkerchief she'd been carrying with her since she had birthed Thaddeus all those decades ago. It had been used to clean herself up after nursing him, and was now a life raft almost, a comfort or security blanket.

She had heard the scuffling around the outskirts, in the gloom of the basement, had hoped it was Thaddeus coming to her finally, after all of the years of being apart. She had glanced over to where the noises where coming from, alas there was not a soul nor presence to be seen, until _he_ appeared before her. Her sweet boy.

She vaguely remembered him, he was familiar, but then again, not. At least until he spoke up, using her infamous catchphrase, "It's me, Tate. Life's too short for so much sorrow…?" he had tried, but the blonde had just sniffled and turned away, shaking her head. Nora couldn't remember, not even her baby.

He was wearing that suit. The black PVC that came with a hood, though he had forgone the full effect, as he hadn't wanted to scare her. He had taken the suit from the trash when Ben had tossed it out, after it had given Vivien a shock in the attic. Tate had made use of it, and disguised himself many a-time; when he'd killed both Chad and Patrick, when he'd raped Vivien and other countless acts of mystery and murder.

As he stepped out and into the light, towards her, Nora saw it was Tate and smiled to him as she stood up, raising her hand to touch his cheek as she had done so many times before. The blonde watched him, how he flinched slightly at the contact against his face. Nora clutched her handkerchief and blinked a little, tears only starting to dry on her delicate cheeks after the sobbing had ceased, "My sweet boy..." she murmured tenderly.

"There is nobody else now, Nora." he told her, the only person allowed to call her by her given name, to everyone else, she was Mrs. Montgomery.

"Nobody else? But what about my baby?" she asked him lightly, a gentle dip of her head sent blonde tendrils spiralling down.

"What about the baby I gave you? That cost a lot, Nora." Tate was beginning to get agitated, they'd had this conversation before.

"He wanted his mother. And, she him...he was not mine." Nora turned away, shaking her head now, "I just want my baby."

"Nora, we've spoke about this before. It was too risky, you took that baby from Violet's mother, you shouldn't have done that." Tate said, chastizing the blonde before she turned to face him, "Violet won't speak to me..."

"Oh, my sweet boy...is it perhaps that she is dead also?" Nora questioned, reaching once more for Tate's face, to push back a lock of his fair hair from his eye. A bejewelled hand reached, brushing his hair, seeing how he didn't blink at the close proximity of her fingers, before she traced her thumb over his cheek, smiling tenderly to him once more. Nora didn't realize his latex encased hand entrapping her wrist.

"She's dead because of this house!" Tate growled, his tone low and gravelly, before he twisted Nora around. In one swift motion he had her pinned against the crate she had been sitting upon before he had revealed himself to her. Holding her down between the crate and his pelvis, Tate barked, "She's dead because of you!" he frowned, tugging and pulling at Nora's dress and underslip, before he finally reached for the zipper at his own crotch.

That suit owned him, ever since the first time he donned it. Slipping into it so easily, it fit like a glove against his skin, a secondary layer of skin above his own. Whenever Tate wore it, he felt that familiar sensation returning. The sensation he had felt when he had snapped Chad's neck while he had held him under the water in the bob-apple tub, and then proceeded to beat Patrick with the fire poke before finally impaling him with it. Yes, the suit owned Tate, not the other way around, and this time was no different than the other times he'd worn it. It was no different from the last time he'd worn it.

He had liked Nora though, ever since the day he'd met her. His mother had been passed out after downing a bottle of whiskey while watching Bob Newhart and had left him to entertain himself and his sister, Addie. Tate had found his way into the same basement, and she had saved him, swooping in like an angel as that thing had almost had its way with him. He had adored Nora, but everything had changed when she had given the baby up, everything had climaxed into one final crescendo which had ended with his love, Violet, dead.

As soon as Nora had brought up that Violet was dead, Tate's urge to feel revenge and make her pay for what had happened was strong. He initially had wanted to push her up against the wall, hold her there, by the throat while he did what he had to do. But he realized, he wouldn't have been able to stand looking at her face, so delicate and angelic, while he violated her. The next best thing was to pin her down, he was a strong, strapping lad, he could easily hold her beneath him. Just anything so he didn't have to look into her face while he did it.

Nora was shifting beneath him, wondering what was happening for Tate to be pinning her down as such, it was when she felt his hands at her dress, yanking, tugging, pulling she knew what was going to happen. Her breath hitched as she allowed her mind to find the realization, and she tried to turn, glance over her shoulder to him but he pressed the heel of his hand into the center of her back, pushing her down into the crate and forcing the air from her lungs, causing a sob to escape. It was as she felt the warmth near her core, and his hesitation did she even remember his name, "Tate...please..." she begged him to rethink, to respect her modesty and not do what he was about to.

Tate missed Violet terribly, it was like she had been taken away, to that boarding school Ben had been enquiring about before Tate finally shared the truth with Violet about her death. Thinking of his love, he hurtled his hips forwards, pushing deeply, harshly into Nora and groaning out. He needed the release; he needed to quash his rage, his anger at Violet's decision to shut him out. To feel a continuation of the suit and its power of brutalization, to make Nora pay for the heartbreak she had caused the Harmon's with her desire for child and repenting on that need. But, Tate wanted to feel closer to Nora, in some alternative emotional cry for help, he wanted to make her happy and he assumed that coming from her era, intercourse was something related only to reproduction.

His urge to satisfy, conquer and fulfil each of his needs was astronomical, and Tate didn't know if he could achieve all with Nora. What would happen if he couldn't? What would happen if he could? Would Nora be fearful of him? Would she still nurture the child she had basically raised as her own? Tate didn't know, but he kept driving forward, his hips pushing against Nora, thighs slapping against her buttocks in a rage that only could be described as manic. With Nora, he knew she was proper, he was the only person she would allow to use her first name as opposed to Mrs. Montgomery but, he felt the need to challenge that, to brutalize her, to truly violate her for everything she had done to upset and destroy his hopes of he and Violet. It was all he could do; death was not permanent, not for a ghost, they would revive moments later, with mere traces of the supposed murder.

With every thought that crossed his mind, another relating to Violet surfaced, and would drive him to hurt Nora further. She deserved it, she needed it, Heaven's knew Charles didn't touch her. Or perhaps he did, as he was doing so now. Maybe that's why she was so silent beneath him. He felt his morale lacking, the suit was wearing on him, and he felt his barriers breaking. Tate snaked his latex encased hand down, squeezing and dragging at Nora's skin, her hips, her breast. Feeling her nipple peaking against its will with the contact from his wandering fingers, and the slamming against her delicate derriere, Tate came. Groaning out, hissing obscenities close to Nora's ear, sending her blonde tendrils whizzing around her face and neck. He heard a whimper, she was crying.

Collapsing against Nora's back momentarily, Tate felt her body racking with each sob she was trying to mask. He frowned and pushed up from her, his hand dug into her back, causing her to arch slightly while he pulled out of her and stood. Looking down and over her while he re-situated himself and zipped his crotch, Tate furrowed his brows. Red. All he could see was red as the blonde tried to turn and pulled down the hem of her dress, to cover herself, not daring to look up at her 'sweet boy' for fear he would do it again.

"You still want that baby?" he sneered at her.

Brutal. He'd been brutal with her. Tate had pulled stitching of her dress apart, ripped her lapel, and taken her so hard, she had bled. And now, she was crying. Sobbing, yet trying to hide it, to remain dignified after being violated by the one person she thought was on her side. Seeing his childhood maternal figure in such a broken state, he frowned and raised his hands to his head, gently tugging at his hair while he willed the image to disappear. It never did.

As he glanced back down, releasing his hair from the grip he'd had on it, Tate shook his head, bending down to Nora. He moved to her side, offering her help. It took everything he'd had in him to offer his hand to her, reaching to touch her cheek for the very first time. It was usually the opposite way around: Nora caressing his tears away with a brush of her thumb, this time, Tate offered the shoulder to cry upon, the stroke across delicate skin to wipe the trickling tears, as he provided a safe solace for her.

"I'm sorry, Nora..." he whispered, pulling her close to his side, "You were right, life isn't too short for so much sorrow. It is an eternity..."


End file.
